I cannot guess

Why my hands began to


Of their own accord.

There was no encouragement,

No request,

No perceptible call.

And yet they reached,

Hoping to…


Perhaps it was

The kindred pain

They they perceived.

Are they too worn?

To unrefined?

Are the arms,

The legs,

The neck,

The breasts….

To which they are attached

To marked and changed

With life?

Or does it have nothing to do

With my hands

Or their companions 

At all?

And why

Do they feel compelled

To reach



One thought on “Reaching

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